


Second Chances, Second Glances

by infiniteeight



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Knotting, M/M, Mating, Rimming, alpha!Phil, omega!Clint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-30
Updated: 2012-12-30
Packaged: 2017-11-22 23:11:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/615429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infiniteeight/pseuds/infiniteeight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stuck on a pointless surveillance mission, Clint's heat is coming on at exactly the wrong time. Except maybe it's exactly the right time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Second Chances, Second Glances

**Author's Note:**

> Not betaed, because I'm doing my rush to 100,000 words thing. Sorry.
> 
> Also, this was inspired by an avengerkink prompt, though I don't know if it actually fills it: "It looks like most of the omega!Clints have him suppressing his heats and generally hating being an omega, so I'd like to see him loving it. Sure, the sex with a bunch of guys he'll never see again kind of sucks (he doesn't want to take the risk of bonding with someone he'll never see again) so when Clint goes into heat while he and Phil are hiding out in a safehouse, Clint happily offers himself to Phil."

Coulson closes his eyes and rubs his forehead, nodding though the person on the other end of the phone can't see him. "I understand. No. No. I'm just frustrated, Maria. This operation was supposed to last for three weeks, at most. We've been here for five. I have a dozen projects in need of attention and instead we're tying up two senior agents on what has become deeply useless surveillance." He listens and sighs, but silently. "I know. Could you go through my files and reassign anything that's become urgent? Thank you. Bye."

Hanging up, Coulson turns to Clint. "We're stuck here for another three weeks," he says. "Intel says that there was an shake up in the organization; coded communications indicate that the biological weapons cell that was supposed to be exporting the virus we've been waiting for has been liquidated internally." Coulson rubs his forehead. "All of which is consistent with our observations from last week, but Intel can't 100% confirm until our deep cover operative checks in, and since there's no immediate danger on our end, they aren't going to risk an unscheduled check in."

Clint looks away from the screens that are showing the video feeds from the bugs he'd planted via blowdart when they first got here. "And they can't swap us out with a pair of junior agents?" he asks, raising his eyebrows. 

Coulson shakes his head and walks over to drop into the chair next to Clint. "No. When this op was set up, the Director gave it an extremely high security rating. Besides the fact that we wanted our most precise possible sniper on an op involving sensitive biological weapons, that's why it had to be you and me. There aren't many agents with that kind of clearance. And the security rating can't be changed once the op is in progress."

"Well," Clint says philosophically, "I guess we get a bit of a vacation, then."

"Technically, we still have to monitor the site." Coulson says, but when Clint arches an eyebrow at him he gives in. "Fine, yes, I concede that we'll have plenty of warning." You didn't move a biological agent without a lot of prep. "But it's not much of a vacation when we can't leave the apartment for more than a couple hours."

"I'm sure we can think of something," Clint says, leering.

"I'm not going to bed with you because you're bored," Coulson shoots back.

Not even a flicker of interest. Clint sighs. "How about because I'm in heat?"

Coulson snaps to attention and takes an obvious, deep breath. "You're not."

"Not _yet_ ," Clint replies. "I'm due next week."

"Shit." They both know that Clint can neither afford to leave long enough to have an alpha to take care of his heat, nor bring one back here when they're working. Which means Coulson's next question is going to be... "Can you tolerate suppressants?" Not all omegas can; about twenty-two percent have an allergic reaction.

Clint shrugs. "I don't know. I've never taken 'em."

Coulson's eyebrows go up. "Never? Not even as a teenager?"

Clint stands and stretches; out of the corner of his eye he catches Coulson's gaze following him. Hmmm. Maybe not so uninterested after all. "Never," he replies. "I had my first heat when I was almost seventeen, and by then Barney and me had been taking care of ourselves for years. I knew what I was, and I didn't have any parents to insist I was too young. So I found a townie and had a grand old time." He grins, remembering the sweet alpha boy who'd taken him home. Clint had been far enough along to be eager, rather than anxious, but that alpha had been so nervous at first. Nervous his parents would come home from vacation early, nervous Clint would change his mind, nervous he'd do something wrong. Seeing him settle into his skin after he knotted Clint the first time had been the best part of their three days. Alphas thought they were the ones with the power, but seeing the way that boy had grown steadier and more confident as the heat went on had taught Clint differently. 

He shakes off the memory and turns back to Coulson. Coulson's nostrils flare, and a flicker of arousal bloomed in Clint's belly, the way it always does when he catches an alpha scenting him. "And on operations?" Coulson asks.

Clint shrugs. "I have a heat every three months or so, and most field operations don't actually last very long, present situation excepted. They almost never overlap; maybe half a dozen times in the six years I've been with SHIELD, and my handler released me from the op every time I asked." Coulson has done that for him twice, actually, but Clint hadn't explained why he was asking for the release. Coulson hadn't asked, probably because Clint so rarely asked to be released from an op.

"I know you're not bonded," Coulson says, brow furrowed, and Clint has to laugh.

He drops onto one of the hotel room's two beds, bouncing once, and leans back on his elbows as he grins at Coulson. "You don't have to have a mate to enjoy each and every heat you have," he says. "Suppressing your heats just because you aren't bonded is like saving yourself for marriage; it's a little old fashioned." Coulson clears his throat and looks away. Clint winces; in some ways, Coulson _is_ a little old fashioned. "Sorry. I didn't mean that to sound like a bad thing." Clint's always kind of liked that about Coulson, actually. 

"I know," Coulson says, but he doesn't sound like he believes it. "It's not that. It's...you're right. Plenty of omegas go through their heats without mating, these days. More and more, they never bond at all, not even if they get married." Coulson's shoulders slump, and he turns his attention back to the surveillance cameras, as if the conversation is over. 

It isn't, though. "I guess that's something you want," Clint says quietly.

"It doesn't matter," Coulson replies. He glances at Clint and then away, giving his head a tiny shake. "By the time an omega gets to be my age, they're either already mated or they know they don't want that, and I'm not interested in some wet behind the ears kid. I gave up hoping I'd find someone to bond with a long time ago. I can handle a casual heat."

Clint flops onto his back and considers the ceiling because...well, Coulson's not exactly right. He's mostly right, but not exactly right, because Clint is only eight years younger than him, and Clint never really _decided_ he didn't want a mate. He just never felt the urge. He likes alphas, likes getting mounted and knotted, likes the way they fuss over him between rounds, petting him and bringing him food and cleaning him off so carefully. 

Most of all, he'd liked picking out his partners. If he waited until the last two or three days before his heat, he could walk into a room and watch eyes slide over to land on him and know right away who was interested. From there Clint could make his choice, flirt and tease, and lure them in like moths to the flame. He's never had the same alpha twice, partly because he doesn't want to lead anyone on and partly because he wouldn't get the fun of drawing in his chosen partner the second time around.

But ever since the Avengers got up and running and they all moved into the Tower together, Clint has been feeling...different. The Tower feels safe and permanent in a way that nowhere else he's lived ever has. He's got a team at his back, a solid group that he trusts and that trusts him. 

More than that, the web of relationships that everyone else seems to have been hooked into from birth, the one that eschewed Clint for most of his life, has finally opened up a spot for him. It's not just him and Nat and Coulson anymore, a triangle that never went any further. Now it's him and Nat and Coulson and Pepper and Tony and Bruce and Betty and Thor and Jane and Darcy and Darcy's string of boy toys and it keeps going, spiraling outward. Clint's never felt so much a part of the world before, and the last couple of times he's gone out to pick up an alpha he's caught himself asking about their families and wondering if he really needed the hotel he'd booked or if he should maybe go back to their place. 

Clint hasn't even thought about mating in a long time. He thinks about it now, thinks about spending every heat with the same alpha, about not having to keep up a running commentary of instructions and encouragements because after a while they'd just already know what he liked. He thinks about enjoying the run up to the heat with weighted looks and slow burning anticipation. But then, they wouldn't just be there for the heat, would they? They'd be there for the all the other days, too, warming the ridiculously large bed Tony had furnished his bedroom with and sliding into the seat next to him at the breakfast table, putting a familiar hand on his thigh. 

With a jolt, Clint realizes this is the first time he's had a home to imagine sharing. He's got a big, comfortable bed covered with nice smelling sheets and soft pillows. He's got a sofa to curl up on and a kitchen to cook in. He closes his eyes and imagines saving a spot next to him on the couch at the next movie night, the way Thor saves one for Jane and Tony saves one for Pepper. In his mind's eye, Phil slides into the place Clint has made for him and it's all Clint can do not to catch his breath at the rush of _yes_ that washes through him.

Opening his eyes, Clint sits up on the bed and pulls up one leg, resting his chin on his bent knee. "It wouldn't have to be casual," he says. "If you don't want it to be."

Coulson doesn't even glance away from the surveillance. "I'm not such an asshole that I'd make you suffer through a heat alone just because I'd rather bond."

Clint rolls his eyes at Coulson's back, then grins when Coulson turns and glares at him anyway. Good to be known so well. "Yeah, I got that part when you said you could handle a casual heat," Clint says. "I've been thinking about settling down lately, you know." Subconsciously, at least.

"You." Coulson arches a skeptical eyebrow. "Settling down."

"Mmmm hmmm."

"Clint, you've never even shared a heat with the same alpha more than once," Coulson says, but he seems more curious than anything else. The fact that he's apparently been keeping track sends a little rush through Clint. "What makes you think that you'll be satisfied with a single partner for the rest of your life?"

Coulson doesn't, Clint notes, say 'with me'. Just 'a single partner'. "I've always been pretty good at knowing what I want.". 

"You don't get any second chances with a bond."

Clint laughs. "Phil," he says deliberately, watching Coulson's eyes darken at the familiarity. "You're the only person who ever gave me any kind of second chance." Clint ducks his head and looks through his eyelashes at Coulson, lets his gaze linger on Coulson's body and opens up for the flush of arousal that rises in him. It makes his scent strengthen, he knows, and sure enough Coulson's nostrils flare and his tongue flickers out to wet his lips.

"Are you trying to haze me, Agent Barton?" Coulson asks.

"Like a few pheremones are enough to get you thinking with your dick, sir," Clint scoffs. "Just wanted you to have a little taste."

"That's not a taste." Coulson rises from the folding chair and walks over to Clint. He leans down, so close that their lips almost touch, his hands braced on the bed to either side of Clint's hips. " _This_ is a taste." Coulson closes that last bit of distance and kisses Clint, his mouth quickly pressing Clint's lips open, his tongue sliding inside and stealing Clint's breath. 

Clint moans and leans up into the kiss, hungrily sucking on Coulson's tongue before sliding his own against it. It's a wet, filthy kiss, and when Coulson lets him go Clint just collapses onto his back and raises his arms over his head for a showy stretch. "That was a lot more than a taste," he says, voice low and husky.

Coulson smirks. "Compared to the main course, it was."

Clint shivers.

"And until you go into heat, it's all you're getting."

"What?" Clint pushes himself up and frowns at Coulson, who is returning to the surveillance. "Come on, sir! Even SHIELD knows this op is a wash. Why not use our time more...productively?"

Coulson shakes his head. "We're still professionals, Barton. When you go into heat, those are extenuating circumstances that we'll handle. But for now, we're both on the job, no matter how much I wish otherwise."

Clint groans and flops onto his back, but doesn't argue. Coulson is right, and if they're going to do this, be together, he needs to see that Clint understands that. "You wish otherwise?" he asks, but he keeps it casual.

"Of course I do." There's a pause and Clint can almost feel Coulson's eyes on him. "You said I was the only one who gave you a second chance," he says softly. "Sometimes I think you're the only one who's given me a second look." Clint rolls onto his side and catches Coulson's rueful glance. "Too many junior agents who buy into the image, maybe."

"Maybe," Clint says, but he thinks it's more that people are too comfortable trusting Coulson to want to look deeper. Clint had been too intrigued by the flashes of something else underneath Coulson's usual persona to resist digging, and the more he learned the more he wanted. And now Coulson was going to take him through his heat. Now they were going to bond.

Waiting was going to _suck_.

Knowing a whole week in advance who he'd be with when Clint's heat came on lends a current of anticipation to everything either of them do. Clint doesn't even have to think about teasing; every time Coulson so much as steps within arm's reach Clint feels a swell of arousal and his scent thickens. But if he thought Coulson was going to be the only one driven to restless, lust-addled distraction, he's quickly proven wrong, because when Clint's scent thickens, so does Coulson's, and he smells _incredible_. By the time Clint wakes with a puddle of slick under his ass and an unmistakeable current of need running down his spine, his moan is as much of relief as arousal.

"Thank God, you're finally awake." Coulson's voice is rough.

Clint sits up, the sheets pooling around his waist, to find Coulson sitting in one of the two folding chairs set up next to the surveillance screens. He isn't looking at them, though. He's turned the chair so that he can watch Clint while he sleeps. "You could have gotten me up." 

"I had work to do," Coulson says. He stands and sheds his suit jacket, draping it over the back of the chair. His hands go to his tie next and he pulls the knot loose. "I've set up a facial recognition program." He lays the tie over the jacket and starts unbuttoning his dress shirt. Clint can't take his eyes off of Coulson's hands, dexterously sliding small buttons through their holes. "The alarms are coded." Coulson undoes his shirt cuffs but doesn't take it off, instead moving onto his pants. The open sides of his shirt tease Clint with flashes of skin. "And I've checked in with Hill to let her know that we'd be somewhat indisposed."

Clint's gaze snaps up from where Coulson is unbuckling his belt to see if he's kidding. There's no sign of a joke in his expression, just heat, and Clint has to swallow before he speaks. "You seriously called up the Assistant Director to tell her we'd be screwing for the next couple of days?"

"I didn't use the word 'screwing'," Coulson says dryly. He slides the zip of his fly down and Clint has to bite back a groan. "Do you seriously want to talk about Maria Hill right now?" 

"No, sir," Clint replies. Coulson is too far away for Clint to grab onto him, but there's more than one way to draw in an alpha. He pushes the sheets away from his hips and lays down again, reaching up to grab the headboard even as he spreads his legs and _stretches_.

Coulson's pants, belt and all, make a soft thump as they hit the floor. He's wearing nothing but his shirt, hanging open, when he crawls up over Clint and leans down to kiss him. Clint moans into the kiss and grabs the dangling sides of the shirt, using it to pull Coulson down against his body. Coulson almost feels cool against Clint's fevered skin, steady and solid and so good that Clint can't help but rub against him. Clint's knuckles ache, he's gripping Coulson's shirt so tightly, but he can't make himself let go, not until Coulson slides his hands down over Clint's arms and wrists and coaxes his hands open.

"Give me your hands," Coulson says, sitting up astride Clint's hips. His voice is rough. Clint lets go and Coulson rubs his thumb across Clint's palm. He brings Clint's hands up to his mouth and slides Clint's index finger into his mouth, eyes falling shut, and Clint can only stare, his breath caught in his chest, as Coulson sucks on his fingers, one after the other.

By the time Coulson releases his last finger, Clint is dizzy. He can't make himself speak, so he sits up and puts his mouth on Coulson's collar bone and his hands palm the small of Coulson's back and he mindlessly nuzzles and licks and sucks at the skin under his mouth, following the hard line of the bone over to Coulson's adam's apple.

Coulson moves off of Clint and he doesn't have to ask, Clint just turns over onto his hands and knees. "Christ, you're gorgeous," Coulson says, running a hand down the slope of Clint's back and over the swell of his ass. A giddy rush goes through Clint and he arches into the touch. Coulson laughs, low and warm, and the sound seems to slide into Clint; it eases the sharp edge of need that comes with his heat.

Coulson's other hand settles on the other side of Clint's ass and he parts Clint's cheeks. Clint moans, trembling eagerly. Then, instead of blunt pressure, he gets a hot breath and a wet touch and he cries out as Coulson's tongue laves over his slick opening. He's never had-- Not when he's _in heat_. When he's in heat his ass is for fucking, but Coulson just presses in closer and slides his tongue into Clint's hole. Clint's eyes roll back in his head and he can hear himself keening and sobbing, the pleasure's so sharp. Coulson eats the slick out of him and Clint thinks he could come just like this, without even being knotted, just from the feeling of Coulson's lips on his rim and the curl of his tongue.

By the time Coulson pulls back Clint is soaked with sweat and shaking. " _Please_ ," he gasps and yes, yes, there it is, Coulson's cock breaching him, sinking deep inside Clint in one smooth stroke. Clint moans and rolls his hips into it, pushes Coulson deeper and savors the fullness of having his alpha inside him, thick and hot and perfect. Coulson lets him have a moment to enjoy it, his hands wandering over Clint's back and shoulders and hips, palming firm muscles. He reaches under Clint to pet his belly, a funny, sweet touch that makes Clint want to laugh and moan at the same time.

Eventually Coulson's hands move up to Clint's shoulders and settle there, gripping in a way that makes Clint's breath come short and his cock throb. "Ready?"

Oh, God, this is going to be good. "Yeah," Clint says, and his voice is so deep and thick with anticipation that he almost doesn't recognize it.

Coulson fucks him _hard_. Their hips slap together loudly and the grip on Clint's shoulders isn't to steady him, it's to stop his body from rocking away from the force of Coulson's thrusts, it's to keep Clint in place so that Coulson's cock can drive in deep. The sheer power of his movements is intoxicating all on its own, but then there's the rough pressure of Coulson filling him up with each stroke and the slide of Coulson pulling out almost too fast and fuck, God, Clint has never been taken like this before. He loses himself in it, eyes half closed, panting for breath. The air is heavy with Coulson's alpha scent, deep and musky. Clint can _taste_ it.

Suddenly Coulson shifts, leaning forward as he plunges his cock into Clint and pressing his chest against Clint's back. His hands move from Clint's shoulders, one moving down to wrap tightly around Clint's cock instead and Clint comes, just loses it and comes all over Coulson's hand. Riding the high of his climax, Clint closes his eyes and _reaches_ for the steady, powerful, quietly amused, safe presence that is Phil, that's always been there when he needed it.

Phil groans, so deep in his chest that Clint can feel it rumble against his back, and then Phil's knot is swelling and his cock is pulsing and he's _reaching_ back. They make contact with a shock of pleasure almost like a second orgasm. Clint gasps and they crumple to the damp sheets together. Phil's arms tighten around him and Clint reaches up to cover Phil's hands with his own.

Slowly, the waves of sensation ebb. Clint's muscles feel loose, wrung out like a wet towel. His ass aches, but it doesn't hurt, not even when Phil's knot softens and he gently pulls out. Once they aren't tied anymore, Clint musters enough strength to roll over so that he's facing Phil. He drapes an arm over Phil's waist and a leg over Phil's legs and leans in for a slow kiss.

The kiss breaks because Phil starts smiling and once Phil starts smiling Clint can't stop himself from smiling back, so they just smile against each other's mouths for a while. 

"I feel like you deserve to know," Clint finally says, "that that was by far the best sex I have had in my life. Shoulda known you'd be fucking awesome in bed; you're fucking awesome everywhere."

Phil chuckled. "Well, I've had a while to think about exactly how I wanted this to go."

"Mmmm. I'd apologize, but I think this happened exactly when and how it was supposed to." Clint raised a hand and traced his thumb over Phil's temple, then down to the curve of his cheekbone and the corner of his mouth. He could feel the bond between them resonate. "We're going to be amazing together."

"Clint." Phil smiled and turned his head to kiss Clint's thumb. "We already are."

~!~


End file.
